Last Beautiful Girl
by lenny
Summary: Rory decides to take a different approach towards her problems, and it leads her somewhere she never thought she'd go.
1. Seventeen Candles

Seventeen Candles

Author's Note - I've had this done for a while, and just haven't known what to do with it. So I made a few adjustments and thought I'd post it to see if anyone wanted me to continue. It's dedicated to Jessie as usual, and also to Lisa, who wants Lorelai to get it on with Tristan. She's a sick girl. I love feedback, and therefore I will love you forever if you leave me some. Thanks for everyone who's put up with me. And I'm almost done with chapter 8 of Rain. ;) The title comes from a Matchbox Twenty song.

Disclaimer - Is Chad leaving Gilmore Girls for Dawson's Creek? Then I don't own any of them.

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Last Beautiful Girl

Chapter One - Seventeen Candles

The day hadn't been going particularly well for Rory as it was. She had been embarrassingly unprepared for a pop quiz on Spanish verbs; for the last two hours she had been calculating and recalculating her grade, and it appeared she might slip from her position as the top student in the class. During lunch, she had been reading in the library and lost track of time. She slipped into the back of her Physics class seconds after the bell rang, earning an overly dissatisfied scowl from the teacher and a self-assured smirk from Tristan.

Rory had never been more tempted to throw her book at Tristan's head.

So when the sixth period bell rang, Rory ran straight out to the field behind Chilton, not even bothering to stop by her locker first. Seventh was a free period that day, and she knew just how she wanted to spend it.

Just as she was settling down underneath a shady tree, a shadow came across the pages, as well as her face.

"I'm hurt. Honestly, I thought you could remember a simple thing like your best friend's birthday."

"Leave me alone, Tristan. I'm not in the mood for your crap today." She stood up haughtily, gathering her things and preparing to sit at the bus stop for the next hour.

"Mary, I'm not leaving until you give me a birthday kiss." Tristan said, stepping closer and grinning.

Rory angrily hoisted her backpack strap up on her shoulder. "God, Tristan." she exclaimed. "When are you going to get it through your large, ego-stroked, obviously imperceptible head that I want nothing more than for the stock market to crash and for you to crawl back into your hole?" A scowl had replaced her usually beautiful smile, the corners of her eyes crinkled in frustration and anger.

"Where I come from, money doesn't determine how much you like- or hate- someone, and second grade tactics are abandoned in the second grade. Get your head out of the sandbox, Tristan. _I don't like you._ Not that you've ever given me the chance to. From day one you've been out to make me miserable, and for God's sake, my name is Rory!"

She exhaled sharply, a strand of dark hair falling limply over her eyes. Tristan lived for this. Their daily banter, her long, coffee induced tirades. He liked seeing her cornered, fighting her battles with her mind. She was just another, more difficult conquest to be put on his long list of sexual accomplishments. Tristan figured she'd give in to his advances by the end of Junior year easily. But then again, he had also thought the battle would have been won long ago, back when they first met. One look at his carefully tousled hair and sparkling blue eyes, and Rory Gilmore'd be at his feet, right? Nearly a year later, they were still playing games.

So here he was, weeks into their Junior year, standing in front of Rory on the soccer field. Playing the game he had begun to hate. It all started with that kiss. Up until then, he had wanted nothing more than Rory's virginity, another trophy on his proverbial wall. The fight with Dean was out of pride; he couldn't have her be seen all cozy with some small-town bag boy while it was public knowledge he was in pursuit. It was humiliating. They should have been together and bitterly apart by then.

All the while, rumors had been circulating that Tristan DuGray had finally abandoned his ways and fallen for a girl. He had vehemently denied it; he was just taking his time with this one.

But sitting at that piano bench, ego stowed safely away, the two had seen a vulnerability in each other's eyes. He had kissed her before he even realized it. Seeing her run away in anguish had torn his heart into pieces. The kiss had been more than he had ever experienced. It was an old practice to keep his emotions on ice, frozen away from his relationships. He had been caught completely off guard by the moment's complete honesty and the sweetness of her kiss.

It was that night that Tristan realized everyone had been right all along- he was in love. It was the second time he had cried, the former beside his grandfather's hospital bed only months before. Ever since then, experiencing a want he had never known, a small smile would play on his lips every time she entered the room. A smile only for her, tinged with sadness and detachment.

Try as he might, he couldn't stop playing their game. Pride ran deep in his blood. Sometimes he just wanted to climb the fountain in front of Chilton and announce to the whole world that he wanted nothing more than to hold Rory Gilmore. But every time he opened his mouth, the old acidic Tristan would be back. He hated himself, his only solace being the spark in her eyes and the knowledge that Rory could never hate anyone, although he suspected he came close.

"So, where's my birthday kiss?" he repeated. "You know, seventeenth birthdays only come once. A year from now, you and I will have to practice some willpower. Don't want us doing anything illegal before you become of the legal age. Better get it all in before we have to wait." He stepped forward, eyes flickering down her body.

Rory bit back the many four-lettered words on her tongue. She and Lane had had many late night discussions about Tristan DuGray. Lane was convinced that he liked Rory, hiding his feelings under the guise of a relentless, oversexed prep school pinup boy. Rory thought he was an asshole. During the summer, it had taken three weeks, four days, seven hours, and twenty-two minutes to get Rory to admit Tristan was attractive. Only 15 minutes longer than Lane had thought. An additional three weeks later, Rory confessed she felt something when they had kissed. "But that doesn't change the fact that he's still an impossible, rude, and overall hateable person." Rory had argued.

"Hateable isn't even a word," Lane had pointed out.

"So?" Rory finished her sixth cup of coffee.

"You don't make up words for just anyone. It's there. You just have to find it. Push him a little. Show him you won't back down."

"Since when are you so wise in the ways of love, Dr. Ruth? Where do you get your wisdom from?"

"Glamour." Lane had said simply, smiling from behind her hot chocolate. She just hoped she was pushing Rory in the right direction.

Tristan's trademark smirk appeared, stepping closer to his target. "The sooner you kiss me, the sooner I'll leave you and The Grapes of Wrath alone. I swear, just one little kiss, and I'll leave you alone. Forever."

Rory tucked the hair behind her ear, thinking back to what Lane had said.

Before Tristan knew it, she had reached out and grabbed his tie, pulling him down towards her. Her lips met his, at first emotionless. She pulled harder, crushing their lips together, gradually easing into the kiss. Rory ran her tongue along Tristan's mouth, her backpack slipping off as her grip faltered, shoulders relaxing, pressing her body against his.

Tristan's finger trailed down her jaw, getting lost in her hair, cradling her head. Their mouths opened wider, deepening the kiss. Rory's hand fell from his tie, running it across his back, pulling him closer. Sooner than she would have liked, even though she refused to admit it, Rory remembered what the purpose of this endeavor was. She drew in one last breath of him, savoring his taste and the feel of him gently searching her mouth, then forcefully pushed him away. His eyes flew open; he blinked, speechless.

Rory bent down, picking up her backpack and trying to regain her composure, hoping she looked unaffected by the kiss.

"I hope you keep your promises." she said simply, walking off the field and towards the building, legs shaking beneath her.

Tristan continued to stand there in shock, attempting to process the last few minutes. Out of the corner of his eye, he saw something sitting in the grass where Rory had been only moments before. The Grapes of Wrath. He bent down and picked it up, holding it tightly against his chest and wondering exactly how things had changed so much in such a short time.


	2. Coffee and Tristan

Author's Note- I'm really sorry for the huge delay in an update. My life is insane right now, and I appreciate the patience. Finals, my family… but excuses don't make new chapters come any sooner. Thanks for hanging in there with me. Also, thanks for all the great reviews. They're what keep me writing.  
  
As another little note- I didn't really intend for there to be a relationship between the meaning of the song and the story. In all honesty, I was sitting here waiting to upload it when I realized I needed a title. I had been singing it all day, and it just seemed to work, so I used it. I guess in my mind I meant that Tristan sees her as the last truly beautiful girl, and as I listen to it now, more and more of the song begins to fit. Try listening to Matchbox Twenty's "Last Beautiful Girl" as you read this.  
  
  
  
  
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Last Beautiful Girl   
  
Chapter Two - Coffee and Tristan  
  
  
  
Rory's hands trembled as she walked towards the bus stop, the soft early autumn grass springing lightly beneath her feet.  
  
_I cannot believe I just did that._  
  
She exhaled slowly, attempting to shake the feeling coursing through her body. She could still feel Tristan's hands sifting through her hair, his soft lips gently against hers, could still hear the surprised gasp he let out when she grabbed him, the little moan as her fingers ran across his chest.  
  
_Rory Gilmore, you're an idiot._  
  
She sat down at the bench, dropping her bag and jacket on the ground next to her, her head falling lightly into her hands.  
  
An hour later she was still sitting there deep in thought when she felt the bench shift and heard the bus pulling up to the curb. Rory raised her head slowly, her hands running across her face, pulling her hair back. She was leaning over to collect her things when she saw him sitting next to her.  
  
Tristan's eyes were focused on her lips, confusion washing across his features. He bit his lip unconsciously, and later that week Rory would refuse to admit exactly what she was thinking when she remembered how he looked. Rory had never seen his face so troubled. He sat motionless, blue eyes examining her. Only now he wasn't looking hungrily at her body.  
  
The bus came to a stop in front of them, the door sliding open with a gust of wind. She held her jacket tightly against her stomach, standing up and getting on the bus, her eyes never leaving him. The bus ride home was a quiet one.  
  
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Rory didn't remember getting off of the bus and walking towards the diner. She didn't remember pushing open the door, hearing the familiar jingle of the bell, and sitting down across from her mother in front of the window. But she did remember Luke slamming down a huge mug of coffee in front of her, grunting, and walking away. The steaming brown liquid splashed against the sides of the mug, nearly spilling onto her hands, carefully folded in front of her.  
  
"I don't want any." she said, pushing it away.  
  
Lorelai reached across the table, grabbing for the coffee. Rory smacked her hand.  
  
"Uh oh. All is not well in the land of Chilton, mmm?"  
  
Rory sighed.  
  
"Oh come on. You didn't even comment on my Yoda impression." Lorelai pouted, jabbing her daughter in the arm with a salt shaker.  
  
"Sorry mom, I've kind of got other things on my mind."  
  
Lorelai grabbed a handful of straws from the jar on the table and began unwrapping them. "Like what?"  
  
"I just… nothing."  
  
"Liar! Fiend! Fabricator of the truth! Don't lie, I know better. After all, Rory." Her voice deepened. "I am your mother."  
  
"Enough with the Star Wars. And take that napkin dispenser off of your face. You don't know where that thing's been." Rory leaned across the table, pulling it away from her mother, who was busy trying to get a man sitting at a nearby table to show her his light saber.  
  
"You never let me have any fun. Boring Rory." Lorelai began to pout, then settled down, suddenly remembering her daughter's mysterious dilemma. "So what's up, babe?"  
  
Rory stared deep into her now cold coffee, muttering something unintelligible.  
  
"Wow, I'm sorry, but for some strange reason I couldn't understand a word you just said."  
  
She mumbled again, this time only speaking two words clearly- Tristan and stupid.  
  
"Tristan? You what?"  
  
Rory looked up. "I kissed him."  
  
"You what?!"  
  
"I kissed him." she repeated slowly.  
  
Lorelai leaned over the table, prying one of Rory's eyes open and peering into the bright blue. "Rory, if you're in there somewhere, you've been abducted by the crazy, Tristan-kissing body snatchers. Just keep drinking the coffee, hon. Keep drinking the coffee!"  
  
Rory jerked away from her mother's grasp. "Leave me alone." She thumped her head against the menu on the diner table, groaning. "I can't believe I did that."  
  
"I can."  
  
"Shut up."  
  
"He's hot. I'd do him."  
  
"I didn't ask you, Mrs. Robinson."  
  
"Hey, you're the one that kissed him."  
  
Rory sighed. "This conversation isn't helping."  
  
"Well, maybe if you'd stop talking into the table…" Lorelai swatted at her daughter's head, sneaking a sip out of her coffee cup.  
  
"I saw that."  
  
"Saw what?" Lorelai asked innocently. "So, back to you making out with the hot guy. At Chilton." She giggled. "Wait until mom hears about this. She'll just love what a good impression you're making on the good people of Hartford."  
  
Rory groaned again.  
  
"I wonder if you'll get a little letter that you have to wear. Only maybe yours can be an R for Rory. And it can be blue with little frills all over it, and a little heart along the side with a picture of you and Tristan."  
  
"Mom! If you don't stop now, I'm taking a sledgehammer to the coffee pot once we get home."  
  
Lorelai gasped. "Blasphemy!" she screeched, slapping a hand to her cheek. "You devil child. Need I remind you how many hours I was in labor, bringing you onto this earth? That I was the one that introduced you to the drink of the gods?"  
  
Rory wordlessly flung her napkin into Lorelai's half-full coffee cup, then set her head back down on the table.  
  
"I hate you."  
  
"Now that's not a smart thing to say to the woman in charge of making your coffee every day."  
  
A plate of oatmeal raisin cookies were set down gruffly in front of Rory, making the table shake and her head crash back down violently.  
  
"Now I know that didn't help."  
  
"Shut up and eat your cookies. And get your head off of my table." Luke turned and walked off.  
  
Rory sat up slowly, afraid to open her eyes. "Mom… what do I do? I kissed him. I hate him… and I kissed him."  
  
Lorelai reached for a cookie, pulling back quickly as she was swatted away. "Well, maybe you don't hate him."  
  
"What? How could I not? He hates me. He tries to make my life miserable. And what do I do? I ram my tongue down his throat."  
  
"Well then. You didn't mention any ramming of tongues. That changes everything." Lorelai grabbed Luke as he passed, ordering a cheese danish with a series of complicated hand gestures.  
  
Rory sighed again. "Mom?"  
  
"Yeah, babe?"  
  
"I'm going home."  
  
Lorelai reached over and ruffled her daughter's hair lovingly. "I hope you feel better, babe. Go call Lane and giggle over how dreamy Tristan is. And argue over who has a nicer butt, Tristan or Ricky Martin. Oh, and Rory?"  
  
Rory rolled her eyes, pushing her chair back in underneath the table. "Yeah, Mom?"  
  
"Are you going to finish your coffee?"  
  
Without another word, Rory grabbed her coffee cup and the danish out of Luke's hand and turned and walked out of the diner.  
  



	3. Mistake

Author's Note- I'm still alive.  
  
  
  
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Last Beautiful Girl  
  
Chapter Three – Mistake  
  
  
  
On the way home, Rory nearly ran into two mailboxes, tripped over a lawn gnome, and caught herself thinking about Tristan's butt at least five times. She stopped counting after that.  
  
The walk to the front door found Rory's mind flooded with the memory of how right it felt to have his arms around her. She slammed the door, knocking over the rubber elephant next to the coat rack, sending it flying towards the stuffed goose on a nearby shelf.  
  
After three hours of lying wordlessly on her bed, no answers had magically formed on the ceiling, although at one point Rory was sure that a fly had been attempting to skywrite a secret message from the CIA. She rolled over, groaning at the sudden, unfamiliar movement. The early evening sunlight filtered in through her sheer curtains, painting a puddle of golden yellow on her floor.  
  
Rory continued to roll until she fell onto the floor, over the rug, next to the cordless phone lying amongst a heap of scarves. She hit the power button and began to dial when she realized she didn't know whom to call.  
  
As she started to stare out of the window at the sunset, her desk faintly came into view. She reached out a hand to grab the chair, knocking her backpack off of the desk and onto its side, a small, folded piece of paper tumbling out.  
  
Rory, call me. I need to talk to you. Tristan.  
  
Fate. Yeah. She shrugged, a chill running down her spine. He must have slipped it in there at the bus stop. His number was scribbled below his name in that Tristan scrawl, exuding none of the overconfidence of his personality. It was small, meek, and messy. She held the paper in the palm of her hand, raising it up toward her face, inhaling the vague scent of his cologne.  
  
Rory shuddered again, then picked up the phone. She hastily dialed his number, not really knowing why. It rang, echoing with the hollow sound of her breath.  
  
"Hello?"  
  
There was silence. Breathing.  
  
"Hello? Is anyone there?"  
  
"Hi." Rory whispered.  
  
"I didn't think you'd call."  
  
"Yeah, me either." Rory rolled onto her stomach, playing with the loops of the rug between her fingers.  
  
"I... I don't know what to say." Tristan sounded... almost vulnerable.  
  
Silence again.  
  
"Rory. I just... What happened earlier. I don't... Can't we..."  
  
"Tristan. I... I don't know why I called, honestly. I think this was a mistake."  
  
He exhaled slowly. "That's just it, Rory. It wasn't a mistake. Everything about it was right. Everything. And you know it."  
  
"No."  
  
Several moments passed until she heard his voice again.  
  
"Rory. Please, just say something. Tell me you felt it too, I know you did."  
  
A flash of light filled her room, and the distant crunching of tires against concrete drifted through the open window.  
  
"Rory."  
  
A tear silently slipped down her cheek. "I'm sorry."  
  
She lightly set down the phone, sobbing into her cradled hands, wondering just what she had done. 


	4. Greased Lightning

Author's Note - I'm a fic reader's worst nightmare. Flame me for my bad updating habits. I deserve whatever violent actions I receive.  
  
As usual, I don't own any of these characters. They all belong to the genius that is Amy Sherman-Palladino. The title isn't even mine. Attribute that to Rob Thomas and the rest of Matchbox Twenty, because I stole the title from their song of the same name.  
  
Comments? Reviews? Yes, please. :)  
  
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Last Beautiful Girl  
  
Chapter Four - Greased Lightning  
  
  
  
The next morning found Rory asleep underneath her bed, the phone tucked beneath her chin, humming faintly as the batteries began to die. She twitched her nose as she became conscious of a small, sticky thing on her forehead. As she blinked, a small fluttering of yellow passed her eyes.  
  
A post-it note lay on the floor.  
  
Tristan called. Call him back. Do it, Ror, or I'll kick your ass. Mom.  
  
Rory groaned. After hauling herself off of the floor and out to the kitchen, she stood in front of the empty freezer for three minutes before forgetting entirely that it was Saturday and she therefore was not missing school. Jumping jacks were attempted in front of the open breadbox, which was also empty, when she spotted another yellow sticky on the toaster.  
  
Babe, it's Saturday. You didn't sleep through school. And if you do any homework before 7:48 PM, I'll ground you until you're 39. Now go call the rich boy with the pretty eyes.  
  
Rory hastily drew a moustache and a top hat on the stick people her mother had drawn on the dry erase board above the potato peeler, decided on a partially stale strawberry pop tart, then settled down in front of the television set in the family room for a four hour marathon of the Grease movies when the phone rang.  
  
Forty eight seconds later, the answering machine clicked on as the FBI warning faded and the opening of Grease began to play. Rory dove in between the couch cushions in a vain attempt to mute the movie and failed miserably, coming up with only a year old mint, three fashionably purple nickels, and one of those things that you stick on the end of corn cobs to hold them still while you eat that was shaped like a poodle. By the time she found the controller, the machine had clicked off, and Danny was singing passionately to Sandy on the beach. It was only logical that she forgot about the message within three seconds of the opening bars of Summer Nights.  
  
Once Rory's feet began to numb during Beauty School Dropout, she remembered the once forgotten mystery message. Getting up and hitting pause on the VCR, she walked over to the machine and pressed the play button. A chill crept up her spine as a deep, pensive voice filled the room.  
  
Rory. Look, I know the last thing you want to do right now is talk to me. But I need to. Please. Just meet me at the park near your house at 1 today. I really need to talk.  
  
Groaning, Rory stood in front of the answering machine, willing Tristan's voice to start back up and affirm that the whole thing had been a dream. Instead, she found her hand moving towards the play button once more, unbeknownst to the rest of her body and her brain.  
  
She listened to the message again. And again. Then after checking the blinking digital numbers on the front of the VCR, began walking towards the front door. Still in her pajamas, and not quite sure what she was doing, Rory grabbed her coat and walked out of the door, not bothering to lock it behind her.  
  
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Fifteen minutes later, the little hand on Tristan's watch moved steadily towards 12. One in the afternoon. Exactly twenty-four hours since Tristan's lips last touched Rory's.  
  
He knew it was sad; remembering the exact second he shared an innocent kiss with an innocent girl when he had done so much more with so many others. He would never admit how crushed he had been when she pulled away from him for the second time in his life. Tristan knew that that was the best way to get his ass kicked at Chilton; admitting he had fallen for some simple girl, nothing special.  
  
But if only everyone could see in Rory what he saw. Past those beautiful eyes, the soft, smiling lips, the gentle slope of her cheeks. Yeah, she was pretty. Better looking than most of the other girls at school. She didn't require layers of overpriced makeup to create an illusion of beauty. But what Tristan loved about her wasn't her looks.  
  
For the first time in his life, he saw who someone really was. Rory wasn't some persona set out to impress. She was who she was. Maybe she was simple; maybe she didn't judge people by the balance of their checkbook. But that was okay.  
  
All Tristan knew was that loving her was the most uncomplicated thing he had ever done.  
  
He tore his gaze away from his watch, down the grassy hill he was sitting on. And he saw her.  
  
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She walked, head held high. Down the sidewalk, across the lawn, straight through the center of town, in front of the gazebo, up the hill towards the park. As Tristan came into view, sitting quietly under her favorite weeping willow, Rory's lip began to tremble.  
  
Capturing it quickly between her teeth, she pulled her brown jacket tightly around the bright purple pajamas she still wore. Hatching chicks jumping out of eggs peeked out from underneath the hem of her coat, and part of the collar was upturned behind her neck.  
  
Rory was embarrassed to be seen in such a manner. Never mind that fact that she had accosted Tristan in such a way only hours ago. She had yet to have her morning cup of coffee, her slippers didn't match, and she was on the verge of tears.  
  
Tristan couldn't remember her looking more beautiful.  
  
She continued to walk towards him, one foot after another, slowly and unsurely. Tufts of her hair were periodically caught by the wind, blowing it across her face, blocking her intense look from Tristan's worried face. She stopped right in front of him; sat carefully, her fuzzy slippers sticking up out of the grass like a splash of color in a sea of green.  
  
"Hi."  
  
Tristan tilted his head to the side, looking at Rory in part amusement, part concern.  
  
"Are you okay?" he asked.  
  
"Okay? I could say yes."  
  
He nodded. "But you'd be lying."  
  
She smiled, her eyes defying the gesture.  
  
"I honestly didn't expect to see you here. You've been avoiding me."  
  
Rory made a face.  
  
"I mean, with good reason. But still. When you called last night, you blew me away. Now you came here... I don't know what to think." His hands ran nervously through the grass, fingering the blades.  
  
"I guess I'm just surprising myself this week. First decaf coffee Monday morning, then a cherry danish Tuesday. I'm a wild woman, what can I say?"  
  
"Don't forget our hot and steamy little exhibition at school on Friday." Tristan said, genuinely smiling at the memory.  
  
Rory blushed, struggling to keep her trembling lip under control. "Yeah, how could I forget."  
  
She moved uncomfortably, finally sitting on her hands and forcing herself to look Tristan in the eye, needing to get to the point.  
  
"I came here for one reason, Tristan. What I did yesterday was wrong. And I'm not just talking about the kiss," she said, stumbling over the admission. "I should never have even opened my mouth. I didn't mean anything I said. I shouldn't have called you, I shouldn't have ignored your calls. I can't think of a single thing I did that was right. So please, just forget any of this even happened. Forget I exist. It's best for both of us, I..."  
  
She trailed off. Tristan silently brushed a finger across Rory's hand, up her arm.  
  
Coming back to her senses, she quickly shook him off.  
  
"Please." she begged. "If you care about me at all... just don't. I don't want you to call, I don't want you to go on thinking that that kiss meant anything at all to me." She swallowed harshly. "Because it didn't. It meant nothing at all, and I know it meant nothing to you."  
  
Rory began to choke on her words. "I have to go. I'm supposed to water Babette's tree."  
  
She stood up suddenly, desperate to get away before accidentally blurting out just what the kiss had made her feel. Turning, she began to walk as fast as she could without running, fleeing entirely.  
  
Tristan sat there for a moment, stunned. He stood as well, watching her walk away. The words tumbled out of his mouth, desperate to stop her, calling after her. "Rory, don't leave me. I need to tell you something."  
  
But she was already gone. 


End file.
